


A shot in the dark

by Onki



Series: Groundhog day [1]
Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Groundhog day!AU, M/M, Most of the time, Psychological, but Santino dies all the time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-20 11:05:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11919591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onki/pseuds/Onki
Summary: Santino dies day after day. Soon enough, he gets used to it and starts to get creative with the way he dies.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> idek  
> i didn't even finish other fics yet im startin' new one  
> also i work so yea updates will probably be late as usual

A shot -  then a dull darkness. He didn’t feel pain, no – it was beyond pain. A white noise that filled his brain was something he never felt before. Cut off from the world, beginning of an endless void and a solid mass.

He woke up thrashing from his bed, falling over the edge, dragging the sheets along with him in a death grip. Sweat ran from his forehead, breaths coming in quick rapid bursts.

Was it a dream or reality, Santino couldn’t tell the difference; but he was there, in his bed, very much alive. But it felt so _real._

Feeling himself up, slapping his hand against his forehead, laughing in disbelief. His laughter ricocheted throughout the empty room, bouncing from the walls that were heavily decorated with paintings. It all seemed useless now. As if all the sculptures and paintings that he has collected for the past half part of his life couldn’t matter anymore. After calming down, he realized he was drenched in his sweat. Frowning at the uncomfortable feeling, Santino brushed it all off as a paranoid dream.

It was probably a dream. Maybe. Too long and consistent, but still – a dream. Might be his subconscious warning him of a looming danger, who knows. Bleak light was covering the room, hardly a dawn. Huffing in a mixture of annoyance and panic, he rose from the floor, halfheartedly throwing the sheets back.

Shower, a shave, suit pick. Night guard shift was still lingering in the hallways, some startled when they saw him. Santino ignored them and made his way towards the kitchen, yarning for a shot of espresso to kick start his day.

One of the bakers was pulling out freshly baked bread, steam and smell overriding every other smell in the room. Santino sat by the table, waiting for the staff to take notice. He kept remembering the dream, usually they’re fleeting part of the night, forgotten in the morning, but it felt like yesterday – a memory.

A clank of a cup against its plate woke him up from the reverie. A strong smell of coffee filled his lungs, urging him to drink it.

Ares walked into the kitchen as well, looking impeccable as ever. Did she ever look tired? She must’ve been alerted as soon as he left his room. A curt silent nod of acknowledgment was thrown from both of them, each drinking in a comforting silence.

‘Anxious?’ she looked over his face, sipping from her cup.

‘Never’, he weakly returned. A worried look quickly crossed over her features, but she understood that he couldn’t show weakness anymore; he had to inherit the High table seat after all. After a minute of thought, he added, ‘Host the party at the main mansion’.

When she gave him a questioning look, he looked away. No, he couldn’t let a dream force him into a cowardice. He’d just double the guards.

‘No, put twice as much guards around the perimeter’, _Ares pushing him into the elevator, shooing him away. Doors closed, image of his rugged face looking back from the mirrored surface,_ ‘Stay close to me at all times.’

She just accepted it, sending out messages from her phone, while they quietly finished their breakfast.

***

John Wick popped out of nowhere during his party, making everyone scatter. Santino felt a nauseating feeling of déjà vu, when he ran away among mirrors. Fear is what he’d felt, but still, couldn’t stop taunting him, words jumping out before he could think it over.

‘Go’, Ares gives him a look, before doors close again. Santino wanted to scream, but it was exact same replica of his dream.

He arrived to the Continental, Winston gave him a carefully masked repressed angry look, before letting him into the lounge area.

“He _will_ kill me, Winston. You have to put a mark on him, _excommunicado, persona non grata_ , however you call it!” he all but yelled at him, cursing in crude Italian in the process. The dread in the bottom of his stomach grew bigger and bigger, making him sweat and shake.

“May I say he didn’t break any rules so far, therefore I do not have rights to deny services for him, Mr. D’Antonio”, Winston calmly said, putting down his drink on the table, as if discussing weather, “May I suggest you to order a meal from our menu and calm down? John knows rules of this world, and I assure you, you have nothing to fear here.”

He looked so damn sure, Santino wanted to punch him, but he didn’t want to be near lounge area even for another damn minute.

He swiftly made his way towards the concierge, who gave him a pleasant smile, greeting him.

“Any room, don’t care where”, Santino pressed out of himself. Then he felt the air in the room thicken, chatters dying around him. He turned back and saw John making his way towards him with a slight limp. There was a gun in his hand, finger still on the trigger. Half of his face was covered blood and grime, making it look more intimidating. His ever passive was now steeled into a glare, solely focused on Santino. Everyone in his way parted, throwing glances between him and D’Antonio.

“Mr. Wick”, Charon greeted him cautiously, eyeing the gun at the same time.

Santino couldn’t even move, gulping once, when John stopped few steps away, hand rising again, pointing the barrel towards him.

“Mr. Wick, I’d suggest you to take your business outside of the Continental”, concierge’s voice was more sure now, with undertones of a slight threat. Winston could be seen slowly emerging from the lounge room, carefully making his way towards them.

“Jonathan”, he tried, “Just walk away.”

Santino gave a slight smirk, maybe this time it’ll be different.

“Yes, John, just wal-“

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woa look at me updating  
> (don't get used to it)

Santino’s eyes flew open. In his bed – again. Barely dawn. Same date on the calendar of his phone.

Not a dream at all. His day has repeated exactly like the first time. People saying same phrases, news retelling same events, even the weather was identical. How could it be?

How did John find him at the gallery? The security was tighter, yet he slinked his way right at the epicenter of the party, like a fox in a chicken coop. Was there a mole within organization?

Question after question brewed in his head. He had already put a hit on John’s head, yet no one has killed him. _Yet._ Running would only stall the inevitable, the _baba yaga_ would find him one way or another, no, he needed another plan. Only way he could get out of it alive was to try and reason with Wick. Was it even possible? Every time Santino tried to talk to him, he was either cut off from the phone line or John spaced out, like he was a background noise.

Whatever it was, Santino tried to test another day. Try to survive this night; everything else was irrelevant.

 _I won’t attend the party,_ Santino wrote to his right-hand and after a consideration, he added, _But don’t cancel it._

 _Understood,_ came a reply.

***

Santino decided to spend a day at his mansion. Ares kept giving him questioning looks, but he only shrugged them off, he didn’t need to justify his actions to his subordinate, he wasn’t young and inexperienced anymore. 

So far, it was peaceful all day, he went through the papers; there wasn’t much - perks of the underworld: succession didn’t require papers, but a good word of few did (even if it was forced with a knife at their throats).

Gianna’s funeral was due soon, but Santino wouldn’t attend it. He knew where he wasn’t welcome. His family probably knew he was the one who ordered the hit, but they had no evidence and that’s all that matters. Santino gave a small huff of laughter at that.

It was almost close to the time he was shot at the gallery. Only minutes from now, he could’ve been at the Continental. Nowhere was safe for him. But he didn’t want to dwell on it, so he decided to go for a swim in the pool.

He was underwater, when he heard muffled grunts and gunshots. Well, there’s John. Didn’t make himself to be waited for long.

It was a strange feeling. Once he got shot and died twice, Santino almost got rid of the fear that he initially had felt. He emerged from the water, John already put a bullet in one of the goon’s head and looked up to him.

“Hello, John”, Santino smiled, leaving a wet trail behind him, as he walked up to the assassin, “Long time no see.”

A silence. So, Santino took it as a good sign, John hadn’t raised his hand to shoot yet, but he had no doubt he could do it any second, if he wanted.

“Is Ares okay?” he took a seat at one of the armchairs, crossing one leg over the other, clasping his knee in his hands.

“She’ll live”, John was eyeing him, like a predator would a prey.

“Are all of my security dead?”

“Probably”, they were almost _civil_ , which surprised Santino, “You didn’t come to your party.”

“That is none of your concern.”

A shot.

***

Another morning, tripled security, no more Continental visits.

Yet he managed to get shot _again._

And again.

At least Santino changed the scenery all the time. Had to distract himself.

Polo, golf, picnic, fashion show. Santino spent one day more colorfully and rich than any other day of his life. There was no fear nor stress, he’d die – then what, he’d just wake up again.

 

***

Santino only bothered to check the time and date on his phone, and fell back into his bed with more force than necessary. He was angry and tired. He lost count on how many times he got shot. But John was somehow becoming more reasonable - talking more, rather than just glaring, which was an interesting find as of late. Maybe he wasn’t the only one stuck in this loop? John didn’t look as menacing as the first day, only a rather passive face with a pinch of disgust for the last week (did it even count as a week? Santino couldn’t bother, he had grown more and more nihilistic with each day). He could work with that.

Before he could forget, he sent a message to Ares, _Dispatch all security, take a day off. I don’t want to see anyone today._

 _No,_ came a simple answer.

Santino cursed under his breath, he absolutely regretted befriending his right-hand for the past few days right now. He had to care whether she got hurt or not, a vulnerability one could exploit. But that was their life – danger on every corner and Ares was more than capable to defend herself if the need would rise. Santino briefly wondered whether John left her alive during the other nights as well.

 _I said leave,_ Santino tried again.

_Reason._

_John Wick._

_No._

_Waste of people._

_Since when do you care._

_Since now._

_I’ll stay._

_No._

_Are you sure?_

_Yes._

No more beeping came to him, so Santino turned off his phone and fell back to sleep. He woke up past noon, feeling no hunger, he slept again. A dreamless sleep, brain beyond exhausted to work up anything.

He woke up at the evening. Yawning, made his way towards the living area, grabbing a glass of water from the kitchen on his way. He was at the apartment complex, top floor, looking down at the other buildings. No other structure had the same height at the area, so there was not much fear of snipers, besides the glasses were bulletproof. John could probably waltz in without killing anyone on his way, or maybe he could jump in from a helicopter, while firing laser guns, who knows. Santino didn’t care about civilian casualty, but, ironically, John seemed to care about human life in general, leaving sentimental trail of half dead goons.

Santino heard a squeak of shoes against the polished tiles. Already here.

“Hello, John”, he said without turning around. It was dark, only lights from cars and neon signs illuminated the room.

“Do you know”, John prodded. Santino rolled his eyes at it. It seemed like people around him never questioned, but demanded in most vague and mystic ways.

“I know Earth isn’t flat”, a daring snark, but Santino couldn’t care less. A cock of the gun.

“One day repeating”, Wick continued. Now _that_ was interesting. Santino finally turned around, taking another sip from his glass.

“And it only took you what, forty bullets in my head to figure it out?” he gave a an opening wave with his free hand, “How many times until it’ll get through your thick skull that I might as well be stuck in this loop? Maybe you should take a shot at my chest now, headshots get boring after”, he trailed off, vaguely counting with his fingers, “ten times, at most.”

A shot.

***

Santino woke up annoyed. God, John had a patience of a three year old. Who shoots people when they’re annoyed? Apparently John fucking Wick.

He was infuriated. Fuck everything, he’s getting out of the city.

 _Wake up_ , Santino wrote to Ares. He didn’t want to delay his leave any more than necessary.

A shower longer than he used to, feeling water drill down his back, steaming up the room. More relaxed, he shaved and applied his favorite oils and cologne. If he was dying every single day, at least he could go out with style, why not. He was rugged enough for a month. Maybe he could even finish the book he has started.

He picked a deep maroon button-up and dark pants. He opened the drawer with his watches, but snapped it back with a frown. He didn’t need a constant reminder whether he lived or not, he just wanted to be at the moment today.

Ares was already waiting for him in the hallway, heavily leaning against a wall, sipping macchiato from a tiny cup, offering one for Santino as well.

‘Take a car out. Drive me out of the city’, he signed, accepting the drink.

‘You have a party to host.’

‘You coming or not.’

‘Fine.’

***

He drove out of the city. It was highly unlikely John could actually follow him, so he eased off on the gas, sitting back. She insisted on driving, but Santino was the one who had a mulish determination, so now Ares was playing a game on her phone. She’d rather die than to admit she was sulking.

Santino knew a hotel at the countryside that had excellent Italian cuisine, so he set the course towards it.

***

They had a relaxed evening,well as much as it could get. Ares stopped questioning him from the second course of the meal, choosing to enjoy the pasta. Santino was starting to drink more and eat less, while he half-drunkenly tried to tell a story, his right-hand subtly eyed the perimeter. She probably hated him for choosing the table at the center, rather than at the corner, where she originally suggested.

‘I’ll be seeing you’, he smeared his hand in the air, she probably got it. But still, helped him to his room. Shortly after closing the door behind her, he collapsed on the bed, breathing in the lavender detergent smell.

The hotel itself was an average family friendly place, he could hear muffled children’s laughter and cries. The air conditioner rumbled, motor occasionally coughing up, breaking the rhythmic hum. It was probably older than ten years, far beyond its working period. Like John. Santino wondered whether he’d be already dead in the hotel right now, had Wick been at his prime. He was probably a beast in the field, firing and slashing anyone that was on his way, he is now, still.

Santino fell asleep thinking about John. That wasn’t weird at all.

In the morning he woke up in his bed. Same date. Well, damn, the only day he didn’t die, his only theory of getting out of the loop died. Guess staying alive didn't matter at all. He felt the placebo hangover, which didn’t help his sour mood at all.

He made his way towards the kitchen with his book, grabbing one of the pastries from the warm rack, sat in the dining area. It was getting maddening, same thing every day. He was finishing the book, when Ares walked in with a cup of coffee, Santino asked, ‘When did we sleep last night?’

Ares frowned a bit and shrugged. Then Santino remembered that she doesn’t know. Doesn’t know that Santino sees her every day and somehow managed to get closer to her. How would it feel to get the calendar set on tomorrow? No, he tried it once, he mustn’t forget his current reality. He needed a sanity check.

Santino ordered one of his goons to order flowers.

“How many?” came a thick accented voice.

“To fill up the living area”, Santino might as well be losing his mind.

***

When John walked into his apartment, Santino was already sipping champagne he opened earlier. Santino had already gotten used to Wick’s form opening the door with a gun in his hand. But today, there was no gun.

“Ciao, John”, he dragged, offering a glass to the hitman.

John looked around the flower adorned room, aroma of it heavily clinging to the very atoms of the air. Peonies, lilacs, roses. Santino certainly made one flower stand owner very happy today, not that it’d matter.

“Are you bored of me already, John? Where’s your gun?” John accepted the glass, but didn’t drink it. It was getting frustrating, really, only Santino would drink and everyone around him wouldn’t. Guess Gianna had good sides as well, she drank wine like a fish in a water.

“Left it”, a minimalistic reply, Santino wondered whether interior at his house, that Santino blew up, was picked by him as well, it was too impersonal and empty.

“Why, are you going to kill me with bare hands, choke me? Kinky”, Santino absolutely got rid of his brain-to-mouth filter. But he didn’t miss the slight rigid tensing of John’s hand on the glass.

“You went outside the city yesterday. Did you get killed?”

“No one can get close to me”, Santino huffed, feeling rather insulted. John gave him a pointed look, to which Santino rolled his eyes, “You don’t count. You’re not human.”

“And I thought _you_ were the demon in my hell”, Santino was taken back by his retort, choking lightly on his bubbly drink.

“So, why change of pace now. This is new”, Santino put down the glass on the coffee table, sitting on a the nearby sofa, pushing one of the giant bouquets away, “You never let me utter more than a sentence, before you blow my brains out, and now, you'd make orators jealous.”

“Lost its appeal after tenth time”, John put his glass down as well and before Santino could butt in a comment, he added, “Other thirty two times were just to be sure.”

“ _Incredibile!_ ” Santino threw his hands in the air, “And you, you _bastardo_ , decide to tell me that you’re in the same loop after a _month! Oh mio dio_.”

“Have you noticed anyone acting out of place?” John calmly asked, ignoring all the hisses and death threats Santino sent his way, “The world seemed to be reset at the time you were shot, the first time – 02:47.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t know, _John_ , usually by that time I lie in my splattered brain, probably already out of the body”, he threw, he didn’t care, he was petty, he knew it, didn’t care.

“You had yesterday.”

“Was it a mercy: yesterday? A gift? Why, thank you, _John_ , for not killing me, is that what you want?” Santino was already losing it, “And no, I was too drunk yesterday. Is it even yesterday? I don’t even know! Maybe _I’m_ not the one that was supposed to die that night, but _you_ were!”

“I tried.”

“What”, Santino was lost for a minute there, “You mean…”

“Killed myself, let others kill me”, John calmly supplied, as if living in a redundant world was a typical occurrence for him. Maybe it was, how the hell had he survived so far then.

“Maybe I was supposed to be alive”, Santino muttered, taking big gulps from his glass.

“If you didn’t die yesterday, I tried.”

“ _Pezzo de merda!_ Now what then?”

“Why flowers?”

“I wanted to die in the middle of the room filled with flowers, so what”, Santino huffed, pouring himself more champagne.

“Guess we could talk”, John took his glass again, drinking it in one go.

“No, your drink was already warm. How could you drink it in a such a piss state of it”, groaning in frustration, Santino grumbled about ‘Damn Russians and their peasant drinks’.

They talked past midnight. Well, mostly Santino complaining and John just looking straight ahead or at the younger man’s shoes. A sudden dizziness made Santino black out in a middle of a ‘debate’ about breads.


	3. Chapter 3

Santino woke up, finally feeling rested. Sun streaks that were filtered through the polluted air came in with a bloody orange glow, covering the room in high contrast stripes. Shutters didn’t even do their jobs, temporarily blinding the man, when he opened his eyes. Groaning, he wriggled around in his bed, curling in his sheets, completely tangling his legs in them.

A morning after without being shot or passing out drunk felt much more nicer. There was no unpleasant dry lifelessness that he usually felt; it felt more – normal. He quite liked it, and would rather keep it that way if he is to live through it.

Few moments later, lying around hurt his back. Sighing, he grabbed his bathrobe and dismissed his security at his door. It was a gesture of habit, it’d be hard to get rid of it the next day. _Next day. Tomorrow, next week._ How ironic he once despised those words. ‘In the future’ usually meant delayed loan repayments, false promises from loaners and late income from the protection. And now, he wanted it to happen.

Ares was already lounging on one of the sofas. It was almost as if she was stuck in the loop as well. Never the same, if Santino started his day differently.

He plopped down beside her, orange juice that he got earlier, sloshing, instantly staining the white surface of the furniture. Oh, well, it’ll be as good as new the next day. Ares cringed at it, moving away, grabbing a toast from the platter on her way.

‘Sleep well?’ he asked, guzzling the sunny drink. Now, all he needed was some bacon and eggs. Being in America had grown on to him, craving for pancakes, rather than crepes. His _nonna_ would kill him, if she heard of it. Actually, she’d do it either way, he _did_ whack her favorite grandchild.

‘Yes, you?’ a belated answer. Of course, for her, the pissy employer who constantly wore an unpleasant scowl on his face, suddenly changed overnight, being much more relaxed and nicer. That’s not suspicious at all.

‘Fantastic’, suddenly an idea pinged in his head, ‘Let’s go hunt for the Baba Yaga.’

Ares couldn’t do the double take of a person who misheard someone’s words. She had her special stillness of processing the signs, whenever Santino suggested a new idea. This one took longer than usual, her brows furrowing and slowly turning her head towards him.

Santino cocked his eyebrow, shrugging nonchalantly, screaming ‘Problem?’ with his body.

‘Are you okay?’ she sighed, sighing over her clasped hands, closing her eyes for a second.

‘Why not?’

‘You got a death wish?’

Santino rolled out a healthy laughter over it, throwing his head back. He could see the two guards at the entrance share a glance between themselves, dampening his mood immediately. He shooed, casting them off with his hand.

‘It’ll be fine. Trust me.’

Probably the last thing she wanted to do was to trust him. The man killed his sister in cold blood and hadn’t shed a single tear afterwards. Could he blame her? No. but he _did_ trust her, so it stung a little bit to see her pinched face. She hesitantly nodded. Now, Santino wasn’t sure who had the death wish here, trust _him?_ He was contradicting himself, he needed to stop right there.

‘He disappeared at the subway station last night. No one saw him since then’, Ares supplied, going back to business, already ready to discuss strategies. Of course she was tracking John down.

Metro was indeed interesting. Most public place, and he disappeared like a ghost. Another thing - the question that bugged him for all those forty seven or six times while he was being shot was how the hell did Wick kept finding him? Wherever Santino was, John had managed to corner him. His men were all tested, chosen into different groups, randomly cross matched for patrols. No one ratted him out, that's for sure. No bugs in his apartment, phones, clothes. Then how?

Why, of course! Who hated Santino the most in this city?

Except all those families he ‘robbed’ of their children, but that was barely his fault: they chose to serve under him, no one forced drugs upon their close friends as well. He only provided what people actually wanted – prostitutes, drugs, counterfeits, name them all, he’ll never feel guilty over that.

And except his own family.

And other clans. Add Winston to the list, the man didn't even try to help him that night.

Yes, he was hated by many. However, the most relevant hatred was focused in NYC. The king of the underworld. Even below the underworld, Santino supposed. He had invisible net over the city Santino planned to take over, using his stupid _birds_ of all things to communicate. Ever since one of his pigeons made a mess over his Persian rugs to deliver a _letter,_ Santino hated the Bowery king’s guts. But it was the only logical answer he could come up with. Santino interfered with his plans for the Big Apple, butting in like a bull. That was more than enough of a reason to jeopardize Camorra's heir's contract. Santino had to get to his office. Did the man even live in one, or just cooed with his messengers on the roof? Only one way to find out.

‘We’re going to the soup kitchen’, Santino shot out, before going back to his room to change. No need for a shower to the place he was going, even at his worst, he’d be the best there.

***

Not a minute has passed at the soup kitchen, where Santino recoiled from the smell - pulling out his handkerchief to cover his nose, when they were grabbed. Ares already started stabbing, but Santino signaled her to back down. She looked infuriated, droplets of blood on her cheeks going down the slope to her neck.

A bag over their head and a lots of pushing. How barbaric, at least they could’ve shown some respect towards him, he was higher than any of them.

“Santino D’Antonio”, a booming voice called out, bags roughly got pulled away from his head, knees were kicked under him, making him kneel, the Bowery King even did the grandiose welcoming opening arms gesture, to which Santino wanted to roll his eyes at, “What a _pleasant_ surprise.”

“The don of D’Antonio family himself has shown his face at our small, humble abode”, the larger man crossed his hands at his heart. Damn the man and his theatrics, “To what do I owe you a pleasure?”

Santino wondered how the hell had the man managed to put an emphasis on every single word that came out of his mouth. Focus.

“I know you’re hiding John Wick, give him to me”, maybe it was stupid of him speaking so freely, but what’s Santino without it?

“Why would I hide him? I would rather put an end to his life myself and claim the bounty you have put on”, a low hum of agreement and chuckles were heard around the circle of his goons.

“What did he promise to you? Did he give you a marker? That’s what he does. Then, next thing you know, you’ll be shot in the head – point blank.”

Santino didn’t even register that he was slapped, until he saw the room spin, a stinging pain burning his cheek. One, who was supposed to be the King’s right-hand grabbed his hair and hissed into his face, “You will _not_ talk to him in that tone.”

“Please, ease off of him. I am _sure_ he didn’t mean to offend-“

“Quit playing, I’m the High Table, _I_ write the rules now”, internally, Santino felt sorry for his cotton pants, that his knees dug into the dirty concrete, splattered with stains. He shook off the offending hand from his hair with a glare. 

“Isn’t it a _Council_ , where several make decisions? Careful of what you speak here, D’Antonio, eyes and ears are everywhere. All of it can get to wrong people in a matter of seconds.”

“More like your _mortadella_ pigeon’s speed”, Santino muttered, looking around. The office was an ugly place, hurricane of goods and stale looking walls with peeled paint and exposed bricks. It was hideous. Guess he couldn’t expect much from the _Bowery King._

Just before he could answer it, John emerged from the back room, looking at everyone with a calm neutrality. Everyone just froze, waiting for _something_ to happen. Wherever Wick went people usually went being blown off, or shot down. It wasn't surprising the goons would stand straight like children. 

“We’re leaving”, John declared, walking out through the other door.

Santino couldn’t stop himself from smugly smiling, when the King’s men released him from the rough binds. When one tried to help him up, he roughly pushed himself away from them, glancing at Ares for a second, before trekking after John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mortadella = loser  
> Plot wil thick3n in thevnext chspter


	4. Chapter 4

“Did you give him the marker?” they were all in the SUV, Ares taking a seat beside him at the back, which left John to drive them around.

“Yes”, he stopped at the red light, looking at Santino through the rear view window. John was the first one to break the eye-contact, because the car behind them started to honk earnestly. He was just idly driving around the park.

“Why, he’d have probably helped you out, regardless of your offer”, Santino looked at Ares, who was looking out the window, giving them a privacy. She’s probably wondering why John hadn’t killed her employer the moment he saw him, but no one was shooting at each other, nor stabbing, so that was good enough for her.

“You know how he’s obsessed with symbols and theatrics. Everyone knows his most retold story of how you’ve left him bleeding in an alley. If it weren’t for you, the city would’ve been mine long ago, John”, he slightly kicked the seat in front of him with the leg he had crossed over the other one.

“Good”, half-dead trees passed by behind the windows. People walking with self-entitled faces, rushing with their coffee in paper cups.

“Where are we going? We’re wasting time, driving around like this”, at that, John made a sharp turn, speeding towards his apartment, “I have more than that place. We just passed one five minutes ago”, but his mulling went ignored.

When they parked in the underground garage, Ares subtly asked Santino, ‘Do you want me to stay?’

Santino shook his head, raising his palm to assure her, he needed to talk to John alone.

After the door closed behind her, Santino moved from his spot to the passenger seat.

“What do we do now then?”

It was a vague question, but their situation wasn’t the most common one. How long they were supposed to be stuck in here?

When no reply came from the older man, Santino continued, “Did you die? I mean, the first time?”

“I did not. Blacked out in the streets, shortly after the Continental”, so it _was_ a matter of Santino’s life. But how do they reset it? They had to try everything now: hours, places, methods.

“Then I should kill you”, Santino supplied, smiling at sudden rigid posture of John, “Ah, John, are you afraid of death? I could make it less painful, if you ask me nicely.”

“Won’t give you the satisfaction”, Wick’s hand was edging towards his inner pocket, probably a knife to stab Santino with.

“My satisfaction is a separate matter, John”, the Italian purred, then added with a serious tone, “But aren’t you curious? We could end this _inferno_ , if you die - then you will rest eternally, maybe even see your wife in heaven, if you believe in one; and I could go back to my usual life. Only, and _only_  if it will actually work out, if not - then we try another technique.

John sat there in silence, deep in thought. Santino didn’t rush him, it really was the hitman's choice. Even if D'Antonio tried to kill him, it’ll probably crumble all the progress he so far had managed to make with John all these days in seconds.

“If there’s heaven, then I’ll never see her again”, he silently passed the combat knife from his pocket to Santino with an empty look.

The Italian gripped the curved wooden handle of the dagger: it was nothing special, a clipped point for efficient pierce, blade sharpened to its limit.

“I’d rather use my own”, Santino quickly put it in the middle, near the gear lever, and tugging up his left trouser hem to reveal a black leather knife strap fastened at his calf. Pulling out a really thin sleek dagger with a marquise shaped ruby at the pommel. It was his favorite weapon choice ever since his juvenescence years during the fencing classes. There was something special about stilettos that has drawn him in: a quick stab with a needle like point and turn, using the long blade, bringing agony to the opponent. From outside, it’d look like a small wound, but internally, they’d be beyond saving.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” D’Antonio asked with a splurge of pride; it was the only weapon he personally took care of, “Was by my side for better half of my life now.”

John took it from his hand, inspecting and holding in a combat stance.

“The stone is unnecessary. Adds extra unusable weight”, he handed it back, sitting back.

“Personal preference”, the gem was given by his father when he was a child. No one had to know about sentimental details.

“Adding a pretty rock won’t save you from death.”

“I think death was charmed by my face and threw us in this loop, just so he can look at me once more”, when John didn’t react in any way, Santino sighed and aimed for his heart.

***

Next morning Santino sprung from his bed, excited to check the date, only to be greeted with the same numbers. Angry, he flung the phone across the room, smashing it into smithereens. Slamming the door, he yelled at everyone to get lost. When Ares rose from her seat, Santino didn’t look at her, rushing past her. He needed a smoke. Bad.

He brashly put on the coat he had grabbed from his closet room, walking out. Patting through his pockets, he found the silver case, adorned with Florentine-style pattern. The metal has darkened around the areas where Santino frequently held, it has been passed from one son to another in D’Antonio family for two hundred years already. When he received his, it was cleaned, snowy surface glinted in the sun. Now, it has darkened, but he didn’t bother whitening it: he liked it this way.

When the top was flipped over, a faint wooden smell hit his nose. Santino pulled out one cigarette, while walking towards the crosswalk. Just when he reached it, it flickered and turned red. Cursing, he got hold of his lighter and aggressively lit the fag.

The first draw felt heavenly: creamy smoke filled his lungs, spreading all over his body. His bliss was short lived – John emerged out of thin air behind him.

“I don’t see a flock of guards after you”, he said, startling Santino, who almost dropped his little treasure.

“ _Testa di cazzo!_ ” a mother that was standing beside them, glared at them, pushing her child away from the two and closer to herself. Santino glared at John, before puffing towards the pissed lady. A pity he smoked fruity scented clove kreteks, than the traditional choking tobacco.

The mother gently covered her son’s earmuffs, before fully flashing at Santino like the _Demone_ itself with a heavy Brooklyn accent. She was getting louder and louder, words jumping from one consonant to other. Santino got more cusses thrown at him than on any gang breakdown he had been at. ‘Fuck-face’, ‘trash’, ‘child-abuser’, even a ‘cabbage’ was heard. He could’ve been yelled at, dumbstruck, until she finished, if not for John pulling him across the road to the pier.

“How dare she?” Santino finally managed out, taking few quick drags from his cigarette. Thick smoky circles came out of his mouth, “I fucking _own_ this area.”

“It was your fault”, John cut him, standing at the opposite of the wind, “She didn’t do anything to you.”

“She didn’t do anyth-“, he huffed angrily, “Fuck you, don’t tell me to feel sorry for a _puttana_ that cussed me out or haven’t you heard there?”

“Her child doesn’t have to breathe in your smoke”, he leaned against the railing, fabric of his jacket stretching over his broad back. Good thing the man didn’t dress himself, leaving it to the Tailor – thank God. The wind was ruffling his open jacket along with Santino’s coat.

“The child doesn’t have to stand so close to me, I hate it when people do that”, at the corner of his eye he saw some movement. Moments later, a dark figure attacked John, even shorter than that the assailant flew over the barrier, splashing into the water.

“You want me to call off the contract?” he threw the cig on the ground, stepping on it to put it out. He felt much better.

“Yes, that’d be nice”, damn, he was hunted all these days and still hunted down Santino. He had a willpower of a mule.

“Now that I remember, where’s your dog?” Santino remembered blowing his house with the grenade launcher; wonder if he killed his pet as well.

“Continental. Charon has him.”

“How did a man like you attract so many?”

John gave him a look.

“Don’t worry, I’m not one of them. Fine, I’ll call off, let me contact the bureau.”

***

It felt bizarre walking into Continental again, everyone was eyeing them. Winston came out to greet John, barely throwing a pleasantry Santino’s way. Charon called the gray dog form the back room. It strutted out like an owner of the place. Seemed like it had same emotional capabilities as Wick, not even jumping at him, licking his was with kisses like any other normal dog would. It just weakly wagged its tail at his owner, taking a side at his right.

Now, they were walking in the park, John munching on a pretzel he got at a food-stand Santino absolutely refused to even get close to. It strongly smelled like overly fried oily dough and cheap sausages. The Dog silently ate the sausages the vendor gave John for free.

“Sold enough today. Don’ worry ‘bout it”, he said, petting the canine’s head, when John tried to pay. It was ridiculous.

It all felt absurd. They were walking around the dog, eating food-stand fried bread. Maybe John was fine with the younger man living.

“Don’t you want to kill me?” he couldn’t wait. A cyclist passed by, pedaling in tempo of whatever they were listening to in their headphones.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Don’t feel like killing.”

“Feeling. That’s it?” Santino huffed in incredulous disbelief, “That what it was?”

“You blew up my house, Santino.”

“You said you were retired. But then, I hear you exterminated almost all of Bratva”, they sat on one of the benches, the dog didn’t even run off to eat random trash – just sat.

“I was”, John breathed in audibly, “Tarasov’s son broke into my house, took my car and…”

 _Killed his dog_ was left untold.

“Helen gave him to me”, John’s eyes were glassed over looking through everything.

“How was it”, Santino dared to ask, “Life with your wife. Was it boring? Bright?”

“We had fights, dates. It was normal. Just normal. No one shooting at me. No contracts. Neighbors came to our house, talking about gas price.”

“That sounds mundane”, Santino needed another smoke. This kind of talk happened over a drink in private, not in the open at the park, “Let’s go to my apartment. Other one.”

***

When they reached the complex near the park, they entered it silently, pulling off their coat and jacket. Santino found the bar and poured bourbon for both of them, ice clinking against the pear-shaped glencairn glass. John seemed to enjoy it.

“So all this kill, was it your grieving?”

“I suppose so. It’s not as painful to remember Helen now”, Santino emptied his glass, reaching for the bottle, adding to both of them. He had his own skeletons in the closet and he wasn’t going to open up about them any soon.

“How was your childhood like?” Since they started the opening talk, the Italian decided to push further.

“Orphanage. Marines. Bratva.”

“Alright, care to elaborate?”

“Fights with other kids. Disciplinary black rooms, locked there for a day, or two, if they forgot. Marines discharged. Nothing interesting”, Santino could feel the question that didn’t leave John’s mouth: _What about you?_

“Born in Italy. Father wasn’t home much, even if he was, would fight with mother. She drank, or so I heard I don’t remember nor I care. Father needed to branch out, so sent me with his brother to here. He was probably waiting for me to kill him, because when I did, he called me and congratulated me on inheriting D’Antonio main seat. Guess Gianna saw her advantage – she was in Italy right at the center of all our family transactions. By the time I reached thirty, spending my money on booze and whores, she expanded out empire twice, tightening initiation as well. I was nothing.”

Santino couldn’t stop word flow, digging up all his memories. It must be all those glasses of bourbon. They were already finishing one, so he stumbled up from the couch to get another one. But all was left were wines, so he had to make do, bringing two of his favorite brands, shoving one into John’s hands.

“That’s thirty year ol’. You better like it”, he gulped from his, sweet taste of it washing away earthy tones of the earlier drink. It was already night outside, soon enough they’ll probably repeat the loop.

He doesn’t know what has possessed him at the moment, but he lurched forward, planting a messy, wet kiss o John’s lips. Santino threw his bottle somewhere behind himself, not caring where it landed.

John didn’t react for few seconds, but started to return it earnestly, pushing Santino down onto the cushions. Santino gave a wide lick over John’s lips, making him open up. Their tongues glided over each other in a chaotic hungry way. Younger man moaned, when he felt the other one thrusting his hardening bulge against his groin.

It felt maddening to have John over him, who was already biting and sucking his neck, hands roughly roaming roughly over his sides and chest. They hadn’t uttered a single word, gasps and grunts filling the room. No, it wasn’t love-making, it was just pure pent-up animalistic frustration release.

Santino reached over John’s clothed hard-on, tracing it over his pants. It was warm and thick, eagerly pulsing in his hand.

John on the other hand already unbuttoned Santino’s shirt and pants, pulling out his cock. His always leaked all over the place, it was no problem at all to pump it straight away. Wick didn’t even urge him to hurry up and do the same for him as well, just looking at Santino with those endlessly black eyes.

“Fuck, John”, his hand fell from trying to unshackle his belt buckle, John momentarily pulled his tie down his neck, finally getting rid of the belt and pulling down his zipper, before leaning over Santino again, forearm resting near his head. He took both of them in his free hand, which wasn’t enough, John’s was thicker and longer, Santino had to give him a hand as well. Just in the middle of it, he felt vibration in John’s pants’ pocket.

“What-“

“It’s 02:46”

“ _Faccila te` mangia batta-“_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cockus blockus
> 
> puttana = whore  
> Faccila te` mangia batta=go eat your own dick!
> 
> Looked up D'Antonio surname, and there was a Florentine artist , so i thoght why not add it to his cig case


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man, i passed out on the couch while writing yesterday  
> loosely inspired by "Rouge (Yānzhī kòu)" 1988 movie

Santino wanted to disappear from the face of Earth. The previous night was a mush of random images as he progressively got more and more drunk, but he _did_ remember the kiss.

He wasn’t shot on the spot, maybe John wasn’t much against the idea? But the man had tendency to just follow the flow without any objections. Except his marker – that was a whole another story. _But_ he pushed Santino down, taking the lead - not forced then. What about his _Helen_ , hadn’t he killed hundreds in one night – of course with Santino’s help – just so he can be with her? What was all that happened afterwards then? Was Santino just another convenient warm body that happened to be close-by?

He started to sound like all those women of mobsters that clucked in the living room with his mother. All were from the slums, clawing their way together with their husbands, and given unthinkable amount of money – they did nothing with it, throwing it around like monkeys. They had no real interests, empty like a sheet of paper, maybe that’s why their husbands chose to warm a bed of a red light district butterfly, rather than at home, with them.

He needed to unwind somewhere: too many days were spent in a tight circle of his men and _John._ His work won’t go anywhere, it’d be good rid himself of them for a while. Now he just needed a place without people, where he can be lost in the midst of nothingness. Different than his preferred places, where there won’t be several hundred year old sculptures, but it doesn’t matter.

 _Get my car, minimum security,_ he sent Ares, heading into the bathroom. He was taking off his dark navy pajama pants, the softness of the silk lightly caressing over his skin, when his phone pinged.

 _Where to_.

_Undecided._

Santino hoped John wouldn’t show up wherever he ended up, completely ruining his day. He hopped into the shower, immediately starting the water, getting stung by cold water at first, then - a pleasant scorching hot he so loves.

After a while, Santino flushed at the previous night’s memories. He wasn’t usually most passive partner in bed: majority of his partners were all soft and careful: trying too hard to please, afraid to anger a Camorra man. But Wick - he wasn’t, just lunging – taking what he wanted. It felt oddly refreshing and intoxicating, just like the drinks they’ve shared.

Shaking it all off, Santino ignored his sluggishly confident hardness and got out of the water. He had no time for that, even he had to spend an eternity here.

***

China town. Pungent smell of spices and trash was in the air, shops filled with bright counterfeit products, vendors trying to over-yell each other to attract customers.

The convoy stopped, when they reached a quiet alley with a red door. Guards secured the area, bulky bodies blockading like a dam. One of them banged the door with the copper knocker that was placed at the center, a thin layer of cyan rust covering the grimacing dragon face.

The panel of the slot screeching open, revealing two sets of eyes, looking over them.

“ _Shé yǎn_ ”, Santino supplied, tapping his thigh in impatience. If he wanted to, he could just make his men  kick down the door, this security system was inefficient and time-consuming.

A grunt of confirmation and the lock slid, an obese man opened, cocking his head to enter.

There was another gate, but it gracefully opened into a red dimly lit room, drapes with peacock patterns looming from the walls. It was fairly a safe place for those who weren’t enemies of the Triad: no one would kill, unless they wanted a war against the Chinese mob.

A woman in a silken qípáo, that snugly hugged her body in all the right places, greeted them with a wide smile, from behind her desk. Her dress alongside the flower that was pinned into her hair blended into the crimson background, making it seem like she was part of the building as well.

“Welcome, D’Antonio _qiānsùi_ , always good to see you”, she eyed his security, “Although there was no reservation, we will assure you will have our best. Whom with you rather spend the evening, sir, or would you rather spend the night in the open?”

“Lianne”, in fact, she was the only one Santino has ever requested ever since he stepped his foot here ten years ago. She was the best courtesan the bordello had, highly sought after. She was picky with her clientele – making the guest wait for hours at times, to test them whether they were worthy of her – it had made her more desirable and unreachable, which has drawn Santino in the first place.

“I’m sorry, but her schedule is full today”, the hostess apologized, after typing into her computer.

“Tell her it’s me.”

She only smiled wider, bringing the handset of the old-fashioned landline phone to her ear, “Just a minute.”

While she talked in her language, Santino dismissed his guards with a wave without looking back. Only Ares stayed, eyeing exits and other rooms. The building itself was ugly, built from gray bricks with no windows – security disadvantage; but on the inside, it was like a small town itself. “ _Jīng dòng_ ”, was a quite fitting name, when one of the workers translated for him. There were twelve floors with an enclosed cloister in the middle, where most lingered at the tables drinking or dining. Red lantern lights were everywhere, illuminating sweaty guest faces and their giggling one-night lovers. Their best workers had their own rooms at the top, where it was more secluded and personal, giving the visitor a feeling of specialty.

“Lianne will have you now. Would you like to be escorted to her-“

“No, I know the way”, he cut off, walking away.

“Of course. Enjoy your stay.”

Santino walked into the main area, where several men and women danced and sung their traditional songs, throwing teasing glances and tiny smiles at the guests. It was only the beginning of the evening, it was fairly quiet and free courtesans stood by the columns, trying to seduce potential buyers like sirens.

“Hello, Santino”, several women squealed, giggling and batting their eyelashes at him behind their hand fans, “Don’t you want us?”

“Maybe another day”, he said as always, he couldn’t just ignore them.

“You say it all the time. Lianne again?” one with the black dress that didn’t hide anything sighed dejectedly, “It’s always her, there aren’t many around here as handsome as you are, Santi.”

He only smiled at her and summoned the elevator.

Ares always disliked being here, she never told him of course, but Santino could see in her stance and thinly pressed lips.

Once at the top, the roar of songs and laughter was almost absent. There were no railings on this floor, only one-way ceiling to floor windows. Potted plants that had blue neon light underneath them were put everywhere, flowers giving off wonderful aroma as well.

The two of them made their way to the room and right around the corner, they spotted John standing by Lianne's door. Ares immediately pushed Santino behind herself, pulling out her gun. Before she could fire, Santino touched her shoulder, making her throw a quick glimpse at him. When she saw him shaking his head, Ares disbelievingly lowered her arm, hand still tightly gripping the weapon. She probably preferred this action, rather than wondering whether her employer has gotten STDs yet.

They closed in to the door, where the other man stood motionlessly, waiting.

“Santino”, was the only thing he said. Younger man wanted to punch him for never talking more than necessary. Was he even a human?

Santino signed to Ares to wait inside.

“What are you doing here?” John asked. How dare he? Now Santino was angry.

“Same could be asked from you, John. Here to fuck Lianne? Sorry to disappoint you, but she called me here”, Santino raised his brow, looking up and smiling defiantly at the other man.

“Not here for her”, John took one step closer and the Italian had to force himself to stay grounded.

“Then I’m sure you’ll find someone to substitute your wife for an hour tonight then”, right after words left his mouth, John slammed him against the wall, hands curling around his throat, cutting off the air. Santino tried to claw the offending hands to no avail.

“ _Never_ say her name ever again”, he growled. Santino must be seriously fucked in the head, because he felt a splurge of arousal warming his groin. He gave a kick, making John lose his grip. Santino could’ve fallen gracelessly on the floor, if not for the wall behind him.

John came closer – probably to finish him off, but Santino grabbed him by the lapels and pulled him down for a kiss. He tried to be gentle, but John unforgivingly bit into his lips, breaking the skin, making him return the favor as well.

Wick’s hand snaked into Santino’s hair, harshly tugging it back, revealing the expanse of the neck. He didn’t even bother kissing it – biting. He was pouring all his hatred into it, gripping Santino’s hips – painfully so.

“Why are you really here, John?” he managed to breathe out in-between hisses and gasps.

It wasn’t surprising when there was no answer. When Santino pushed John away, the taller man only glared at him, continuing to dig his nails into his nipples and sides. When had he unbuttoned his shirt? Doesn’t matter.

“John, the room”, Santino held John’s hands in his, closing his eyes, trying to calm his wildly beating heart, “I reserved it for the night.”

“What about the woman?” his dark eyes bored into Santino’s, just like at the gallery, where he asked to kill his sister.

“She’ll understand. Besides, nothing matters, have you forgotten?”

Santino took a lungful and opened the door.

Ares was by the door, looking anywhere but them. Lianne already was smoking from her cigarette holder, smoke swirling around her.

“Hello, love”, she hummed, looking up and down Santino. Only now, he remembered that he had forgotten to button up his shirt, angry finger marks all over his chest and sides visible for everyone. John was behind him, and it didn’t help at all, the heat of his body burning Santino’s libido even more.

“It is okay, Santino. Ares and I will be out of your hair”, she stood up from her velvet chaise lounge. A glint of mischief was evident in her eyes, when she saw John, “My, the Boogieman himself, hm? How can I ever compete with that?”

When she left with Ares in tow, Santino barely sighed, turning around to face John, only to be pushed roughly backwards, until his thighs hit the nearby table’s edge.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm, John, but a bed would be much preferable”, he still hopped on the table, leaning backwards on his arms and spreading his thighs, inviting John in. The material of his pants stretched across his groin, giving him a tease of a pressure, making him groan in frustration.

“Too many were there”, John grunted, before lunging for his neck. When Santino tried to kiss him, he growled out, _don’t_ in Italian.

“I’m sure they change the sheets”, his voice hitched up at the end, when John bit the juncture of his neck.

“Turn around”, John stepped away only for a second, seemingly annoyed, when Santino lazily climbed down. Losing his patience, John flipped him over the table.

Without giving a chance to give Santino a breather, he pulled the younger man’s pants down.

“Should’ve bought me dinner first, John. I’m not a whore you can fuck any time you want, after all”, Santino barely managed out: John’s hand was pressing down on in-between his shoulder blades, making it harder to breathe.

“Quiet”, Wick warned him.

“Or what, you’ll gag me?” Santino regretted his words, when John used Santino’s designer tie of all things to gag him. Surely there were gags around the room that were specifically made for that, but, no – John had to be the brute again.

Satisfied, Wick’s finger slithered into Santino, taking him by surprise. The lube was still cold, awfully contrasting his heated skin. It was a minimum prep, if what Santino had felt through his pants yesterday was real.

When he felt the blunt tip, Santino wriggled, biting into the tie. Droplet of sweat slid from his forehead over his face, making him aware that his whole body was sweaty as well. When John’s hand touched his lower back, it felt more comforting.

When he entered, thumb massaging the area above his entrance, Santino held his breath. It was going on and on, until John’s hips were flush against Santino’s backside. He seemed to be waiting for a hint, whether it was alright to move. Because when Santino nodded, he started pounding into him whole-heartedly, tearing moans out of him earnestly.

At one point, Santino gave up trying to stand on his tiptoes, slumping on the table, cock painfully pressed against the hard surface. It was still inside his pants, probably soaking his front.

John lifted him by the hips and kept on mercilessly thrusting in and out. Santino’s voice was getting hoarse from all the whines and keens. When John finally found his spot, his voice rose a few octaves.

He roughly mouthed, “I’m close”, before putting his hand on top of John’s. His elbow felt raw from supporting himself for so long, but it all felt _right._

He finally reached his peak, world going white for few moments, his whole body tensing up. John gave last few thrusts, before coming inside.

***

Santino woke up in Lianne's bed, feeling disoriented. Soft trills of bǎnhú were heard from his right, playing his favorite melody.

“Oh, you’re awake”, Lianne put her instrument away, before getting in bed with him, gently petting his hair.

“Was I…” Santino trailed off. What was he supposed to say? ‘Stark naked on you table, passed out from sex’?

“You were on the bed. Why, are you shying away from me? There’s nothing new I haven’t seen before. But you have to buy me a new vase, though. That was of the Ming dynasty”, she smiled, “However, all these bruises…”

“I’ll buy you a better one, don’t worry”, Santino looked down his body: finger shaped bruised, bites, hickeys. The edge of his mouth felt tender as well, when he reached up to touch it.

“Yes, your face as well”, gentle soft hands scribbled patterns on his unscathed skin with a thoughtful face. Few moments have passed in a blissful silence. She seemed to be meaning to ask him, when she dropped, “Do you love him?”

“No, why?” Santino quickly squeaked, throat still sore from earlier.

“He is violent towards you, looks at you with empty eyes, yet you let him use you like this. He just left you here on the bed”, she picked up her instrument, lightly strumming over the strings, “And the look in your eyes, Santi, you never looked at me that way."

“Lianne, I-“

“Santi, I told you to call by my real name long time ago”, she sadly smiled, looking away, tears welling up in her eyes.

“Lijuan, you are my _amato_ friend. Most treasured one”, he tried to stand up, but his whole body ached.

“Shh, lie down”, she started to play the song, she first played for Santino, “I know that I am, my _Xīn'ài_. Do you remember our first night?”

“Of course, I’ve courted you for months.”

“You were so energetic. It was endearing. However, I’ve come to regret that meeting. For years I’ve waited for you here all day long, but we’ll never be fated to be together. Now, sleep, my friend, it’s past midnight.”

Santino felt claustrophobic, but he gulped down the feeling, focusing on the pain instead. But the soft hum of Lianne, lulled him into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how's the extra drama  
> But cmon everything bout santi is extra
> 
> Shé yǎn (door password. yes i couldn't pass the slot password scene)= snake mouth  
> qípáo(hostess and pr much everyone workin wears it) = chinese dress u prolly seen it in movies set in 20s  
> qiānsùi(hostess addressing santi) = honorifics, for emperors and princes and translates to 'you, of thousand years'  
> Jīng dòng(establishment name) = geode  
> bǎnhú (Lianne instrument) = rly long string instrument with smal round body  
> amato(liane bed) adj= beloved  
> Xīn'ài(lian bed) noun = beloved  
> 


	6. Chapter 6

One of the perks of being in a time loop was definitely the ability to healing. Not quite accurate, more likely to have the ‘reset’ body. Santino wondered whether John woke up with his cuts and injuries open as well, must be a bizarre experience. And, no, he doesn’t care about Wick’s welfare at all, just a curiosity.

Few days have passed since the incident – that’s what Santino decided to call it – at the Chinese bordello. John had stopped coming around, and Santino wasn’t eager enough to seek him out as well. Well, he unconsciously waited for Wick to appear, but he had to stop himself from doing so – it was illogical and useless. And he may have stopped calling off the contract after a week of his vanishing.

There was nothing much to do, really, in terms of his business. And all he did for the past few years was that. He had a sister to overthrow and few clans to convince that he was better. His only rare getaway was with Lijuan, but it has soured after her half-said confession as well. He thought it was all fun and games, apparently not for her. He didn’t need complications with another, when there was a whole heap of mess to go through with Wick.

Santino’s mind was in disarray, he hadn’t gone out of his apartment for days now. A feeling of melancholia overtook him. Why care? Why bother? Nothing would change in the end.

It was probably Christmas, had the time flown normally – which means his birthday has passed as well. Santino huffed in amusement, do what exactly during it? He had no loved ones anymore, and the only Ares he had befriended, doesn’t even know about it. What was John to him? Would he still kill him, if they _ever_ got out of it?

John was just _John_ : a separate entity, a loose cannon. Also, a fantastic fuck – his girth and length filled Santino just right… _Merda_ , he got fucked once and now that’s the only thing that haunts him? Santino needed to set his priorities right.

Glaring disappointedly at his half-hard cock, Santino threw the book he was reading across the room, yelling in sheer vexation, throat burning from anger, “Fuck!”

This was happening almost every day now: only thought of John made Santino run hot, recalling their shared evening. But, instead of relieving himself, he smoked or threw anything that was under his hands around. He even tried going to underground sex club, but quickly recoiled. Too many were either too soft or overplayed tough – no one could meet his standards, is what he has gathered so far. Except John, apparently. Was Santino truly masochistic to be sexually attracted to a man that had killed him dozens of times? Probably.

John Wick had a certain aura around him – a power, hidden under the shallow mask of indifference and mildness. He had few words to spare, only stating what he wanted to know, Santino wondered whether he even listened when he talked. Probably not.

The more he thought about him, the more he wanted to know everything about him. Sure, he knew everything, but only formal and what Ares could gather, when he asked. There was nothing much, really. But Santino wanted to know how it had been all on John’s side. His story, feelings. Santino _almost_ felt sorry for blowing up his house, but it has been barely his fault. A marker is a holy deal.

***

Another set of days.

Groaning, he dragged his body outside. He had learned to convince Ares to leave him alone. It was a strange feeling, walking in the city, with no guards. Apparently, no one wanted him dead that day, except for John. Maybe that’s why this day has been on repeat, the only day when only one person hated him.

He lit his forth cigarette of the day, when he was back in the tower on the roof. Syrupy smog that was ever present in the city was beneath him now, only peaks of the tallest buildings emerging from it. Looking down, he could see blurry tiny silhouettes of people and cars rushing. A strong hum of wind was up here, ruffling his hair and making the smoke from his fag dance around him. Taking the last puff, he threw it down, sighing tiredly.

He stepped over the railings. A deep breath.

***

Another day. Santino didn’t even want to move. He was tired, yet he couldn’t sleep. When he read, all words seemed to blur together, nothing comprehendible. He didn’t want to eat, talk nor even live. It was a torture.

There was a knock on his door. He already told Ares to discharge the security and not to disturb him, what was her problem? She doesn’t knock anyway.

“Fuck off”, he managed to grunt out, throwing the bottle he was drinking from towards the door. Pieces of glass flew all over the place around it, orange stains browning the walls.

The door clicked open.

“I said-“, he started, but stopped, when he saw John walking in.

“John”, he breathed out, “No.”

He didn’t want him here.

“Hello, Santino”, John took a seat on his bed, making Santino bounce a little. There were several bottles on his bed, some still unopened. Wick grabbed one of them, inspecting.

“Bourbon. Good choice”, John unscrewed the top, taking a sip.

“There’s wine”, the Italian warily said, clenching the sheets in his hands.

“Prefer this”, Wick gave a mini-toast, taking another mouthful.

“Why are you here”, Santino couldn’t take it.

“Was making my way here yesterday. But police got here first. Anyone push you off?”

“No. I jumped”, Santino looked out the window. A plane was passing over them, leaving a white trail behind, “I’m tired, John.”

He knew John was staring at him, waiting for him to elaborate.

“John, you stopped coming after me. The days were exactly same, like a cycle of hell. It was fun while it lasted, but now I’m just tired. Tired of trying, tired of…everything.”

“You get used to it”, John hadn’t moved from his place at the bottom of his bed.

“You been in another loop?” Santino rolled out of his bed, walking towards the window.

“Before Helen it was survival, after her – no different than this.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“There’s a gun in your bed”, Santino could hear the magazine being pushed out.

“Why do you care? And don’t evade my question”, Santino crossed his arms, looking back. John had his back towards him as well.

“We’re stuck together. Can’t die, change – except you and I.”

“Sanity to hold onto”, Santino finished for him, “Is it truce then?”

“Guess so”, another sip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there was lyk a corpse 7m away from me when i wrote this lmao  
> also im tired i cant do frequent updates
> 
> merda = shit


	7. Chapter 7

The building they were in was all in acute lines and harsh lights. Blue and azure neon lights were coming within the aquariums, where all the fish for the dinner were kept. Point at one – get it on your plate ten minutes later.

Seats were placed in cubicles, all falling into neat rows. Everything here was coldly calculated and geometrical, not a wire out of place. The notorious _Polygon_ of the Yamaguchi-gumi organization.

A trendy sushi place only people with fat wallets could afford. Santino didn’t see any faults in spending, if the products is of high quality and it is what he likes. The place usually scared off potential customers, as they served the infamous torafugu fish the old fashioned way – without buying off non-toxic ones, instead breeding their own. They even left a little bit of the poison in, so there was a little stinging numbness aftertaste. This little risk could be fatal, obviously it has attracted Santino.

Speaking of dangerous, John was running late – which didn’t make Santino mad at _all_.

For the past few weeks, he came to his apartment without skipping a day right at eight in the morning, scaring all of his guards. Santino always contemplated just to shoot him between his eyes, whenever one of them brought John Wick into his room with a confused look, accompanied with Ares and her knife.

But his presence helped to overcome the feeling of helplessness Santino had so strongly felt. John stayed by his bed, just being there: cleaning his weapons or teaching the same trick to his dog over and over again. Santino at first drank into stupor, but later – he started to read again, marking new paintings he’d get from the auction that’ll be held next week and so on. It almost felt normal.

“You’re late”, Santino glared at John, putting down the ceramic cup with more force than necessary, spilling some of the sake inside. Cursing, he shook off the wetness from his hand, wiping it on the napkin.

“I know”, he poured into his cup as well, drinking it in one go, “Why this place?”

“Feeling better. Besides, I guess I could pay you back for sitting beside me”, he needed more alcohol, “Although, it was a completely waste of space.”

“Alright”, was all he got.

Their meal was served. John looked up at him.

“Fugu. Peak season is winter, but we’re stuck in autumn – will have to do”, he picked up paper-like sliced piece of raw fish, dipping it in the sauce, “Fat makes the difference, trust me on that.”

“Fuguhiki”, John muttered, when Santino gave him a questioning lift of his brow, he continued, “Special knife to cut the pufferfish. Had to kill with one in Tokyo few years ago.”

“Is there anything out there you haven’t killed someone yet?”

The meal was fantastic, as always. Their talk was mostly one-sided, Santino explaining how to distinguish the paintings of Edo period from Meiji. John added in weapon names, that he has killed with. The evening passed smoothly over two white cups constantly being refilled with more booze, conversation flowing easily.

They stumbled out of the building – it was only Santino, John seemed to have adopted immunity to alcohol like his past handlers.

“I need a smoke”, Santino patted his pockets, clumsily trying to find his case. John did it for him, putting one slick cigarette in his mouth. When he lit the lighter, orange hue illuminated his face, underlining his features.

Santino wanted reach up, but restrained himself from doing so, clenching it in his pocket.

“Ever kill someone with a lighter?”

“Russia”, John simply said, not moving away.

“Enough said, I suppose”, Santino huffed directly into John’s face, spreading the fruity smell, “You ever think about getting out of this? What’d you do first?”

“I’d teach the dog another trick.”

“You ruined the mood, John”, Santino snorted, putting the smoke through his nose now, “Clove cigarettes. Splendid creation. Want to try?”

When John reached over to take his case, Santino pulled him down by his tie, blowing out directly into his mouth.

“Hold it in”, Santino near-purred from his low pitched voice, “Now, breathe out.”

John opened his eyes, exhaling. He inched closer to Santino, cornering him into the alleyway brick wall. He kept looking at younger man’s lips. Santino’s heart was ready to burst out of his chest.

Moments before their lips met, Santino felt a sudden nausea overtaking him, shoving John aside, before throwing up on the ground.

“Fuck, too much –“, he gasped, trying to balance himself against the wall, “Sake. Did the Japanese fucking poison me?”

He suddenly couldn’t feel his limbs, slumping against John, who caught him just in time, before he face-first plummeted into his own vomit. His throat tightened, air no longer flowing, edges of his vision blurring. Well, fuck.

***

Santino had to admit, death from asphyxiation was the worst one he had experienced so far. Even worse so, when the body turned itself against him, refusing to work.

Knock on the door. John again.

“Japanese _did_ poison you”, he had his dog with him, looking around the room curiously – just like all those other times it has come into his room.

“Guess I should burn all the bridges with the Japanese now, except – I can’t, we have to sit around a table and act civilly friendly with each other. High table, or have you forgotten?” Santino might as well change, since John was here.

“Did you hate Gianna?”

Well, seems like John doesn’t waste time at all.

“What made you ask?”

“Using a marker to kill your sister”, he deadpanned.

“It… wasn’t out of hatred, John. I _do_ have a heart, as hard as it may sound. It may be true, that I hoped to get the seat, just because I was the only son”, he picked a white shirt from his closet, “I got lousy, while she commanded men to take over other clans. But I was promised the seat since I was a child, John. It belonged to me.”

“Doesn’t mean you earned it.”

“Oh, please. I can’t pull hard childhood card, you have it worse. But you can’t apply your position to mine, Wick. I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth, and I expect it to be there until the day of my death comes.”

He trailed off, walking into the bathroom. A bath sounded nice.

“But you won’t die”, John stepped into the room, seemingly not affected by Santino’s nudity.

“ _Cazzo,_ John, get the _fuck_ out of here!”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before”, he nonchalantly shrugged, probably wants to continue his conversation. _Dio mio_ , what have Russians done to him, to make him so indifferent towards everything?

“Fine, look all you want”, he regretted not jumping out of the window right there and then.

“What do you want, John”, Santino got into the tub, quickly raising his knees to hide his half-interested cock and regain at least some of his self-worth.

“You shouldn’t have come to my house”, John insisted, sitting at the edge of the tub, “You shouldn’t have destroyed my home.”

“It was in the past, John, forget about it”, Santino submerged into the water, coming out few seconds later.

“Same could be said to you ‘bout your sister”, John deflected. It was getting childish.

“No, that is different”, Santino blocked, splashing water to John’s suit. That ought to feel uncomfortable now, serves him right.

John’s hand plunged into the water, grabbing his length precisely.

“If you hadn’t thought with –“, he tugged harshly, Santino only got harder, “-this. You could’ve had your damn seat, Santino.”

D’Antonio couldn’t help the whimper he let out, when the grip tightened.

“You could’ve hired anyone for this job”, they both knew it was a game now, at least Santino thought so.

“I wanted _you,_ the boogeyman, John. The man with boiling rage, thirsting for his next kill. Yes, just like the time you looked at me the first day”, Santino’s hand covered John’s over his length, speeding it up. A broken moan escaped his own lips, before he came.

Only harsh breaths from Santino echoed around the room.

“Get in here, you still stink like a pigeon coop, also refill the bathtub. You ruined it”, he stood up on his still wobbly legs, disgusted.

Once settled, they enjoyed the comfortable silence in the steamed room. Occasional droplet from the brass faucet hitting the water was the only sound that resonated throughout the room. Santino had picked a citrus soak, pieces of the fruit floating around in the big square bathtub.

“You’re thinking with your _cazzo_ as well, John”, Santino remembered the earlier ‘talk’.

“No.”

“Please, would you fuck me, if you hadn’t been? All men are dogs, Wick. Even now”, Santino nudged John’s hard-on, causing the man to groan out, “ _This –_ is from me. _I_ caused this. Don’t act high and mighty with me here, _mio amico_.”

Santino grinned like a cat after getting its cream, when John’s hand curled around his ankle, keeping it there with shaking hand. Younger man took it as an invitation to slide towards John’s side.

“Say it”, Santino waited only for a few seconds, before going out of the tub, grabbing a towel, “I’ll be in bed if you change your mind.”

He was opening the ever present bottle of bourbon, when he felt hands unwrapping the towel around his waist.

“Yes”, his shaft was sliding against Santino’s back, dipping in at times to his perineum.

“I guess that’s all I’ll get today”, he turned back, taking a swig out of the bottle and passing it, “Hope you got lube.”

No reply. Well, that was a disappointment. Then, Santino saw the gray pit bull lounged on the bed, like he owned it.

“You know what, John, I’ve lost it. Good luck, I’m going out. And take that dog off the bed, who knows where it walked around.”

***

John had somehow managed to talk Santino into jogging with his dog. The Italian was out of breath after first twenty minutes, huffing and gasping all the time.

“It was warm-up”, John jogged around him with his stupid dog, “Two more miles.”

“ _Go fuck yourself”,_ Santino wheezed, using last of his energy to throw the water bottle. Unsurprisingly, John caught it and threw it back at Santino, who had barely enough energy to breathe. It hit him in the middle, making him topple, bending in the middle.

“Out of all the methods you have killed me with, this may be the worst”, he just didn’t want to continue.

“There’s a sandwich place nearby”, John pulled him on his feet, making him run again.

That ‘nearby’ turned out to be two miles away.

There was almost a glint of mirth, when Santino begrudgingly accepted the package, wolfing it down. He did complain about the lettuce, but it went ignored, like always.

“Is this revenge for me bailing on you those days ago after the bath?” Santino finally managed, when he caught his breath, emptying the bottle.

“Might be”, John gave the rest of his submarine to his dog, when it kept staring at him silently, judging.

“You’re petty”, there was only a silence of amusement he got from his companion, when they saw the sun rising out from behind the skyscrapers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cazo = dick  
> mio amico = my fren
> 
> Thanks for all for pushin my lazy ass to write more  
> i swear im writin it for plot  
> Also if it felt like this chapter was all over the place _ yer right i was in a car while i wrote this and i kinda wanted these two have more time with each other so they get used to :thats why they kinda get more and more familiar. Once I'll reread entire fic il rewrite certain parts so it flows more frely


	8. Chapter 8

“Hello, Cassian”, Santino walked into the hospital room, nonchalantly throwing the rose bouquet on his bed.

He could hear the monitor’s heart rate index going through the roof, zig-zagging chaotically.

“Santino”, the man growled, eyes boring into the smaller man.

“Always good to see you”, Santino sat down, crossing his legs. He let one of his men put a fruit basket nearby, “How are you feeling?”

“She was my ward”, Cassian rumbled, lips pursing from anger, “An eye for an eye, Santino.”

“You seem to look at everything through rose-tinted glasses, when it was about her. She easily threatened children and would’ve done the same to me – had I been at the High table. So far, I hadn’t ordered to kill children”, he innocently smiled, “But this is not why I came today, Cassian. You’ve been loyal to Camorra for several years now, we are in dire need for men like you.”

“I wasn’t loyal to no one, but Gianna.”

“Gianna _is_ part of Camorra, she lives for it, breathes for it, has children – only so Camorra can be bigger and more powerful. You can come back into the family, we’ll take you in with open arms. You can even rise to capo rank in few years.”

When Cassian was looking down his lap with a look of deep contemplation, Santino knew he won him over already. He just needed to pull the right strings, at the right time – even if it took him fifteen tries without getting killed in the hospital room.

“You would’ve left Gianna alone, if Camorra was your only concern”, John joined him in the hallway, when Santino walked out of the room with a satisfied face, “But you’re still alive.”

Santino snickered, “Keep saying it and I might think you’re actually happy. I just knew which strings to pull and how hard. He’s a loose end, John.”

“He won’t snitch.”

“Stop defending him. Also, he could come after me, romantics tend to do reckless things for the name of love. Since you’re so against killing him-”, Cassian only needed few minutes of regretful faces Santino pulled off, to actually agree to serve under him, “I’ll never let him know more than necessary. I don’t need capos that harbor hatred towards me.”

“You lied to him.”

“That’s how business is conducted around here, John. Eat, or be eaten”, they were out of the building, walking towards the parked cars, where Ares stood with Wick’s dog.

***

They have been going thru the reasons they might be stuck in the loop: unfulfilled promises, hatred.

They’ve made a bucket list to go through. John’s was insultingly short compared to Santino’s. The Italian didn’t even want to do it, but they tried to, but it was simply impossible to do it within one day.

“Cassian should stay on the list. He _could_ be useful, we already spent two weeks on him”, Santino was killed with medical equipment, chords too many times to count, “My family on the other hand…”

It was a whole another cluster of problems. No one even wanted to talk to him in the first place, restricting only to business. They could tolerate him only that much.

“Do you want to visit your house?”

“No, was there already”, John said looking down at his hands. Santino picked a Russian restaurant, just so he can give Abram a little scare.

“Now that I think about it, are you going to build yourself a new home? But you’re already back, so why bother even try to have that fake normalcy again?”

“I don’t regret killing you. Now, ever. I was back only for Helen, I warned you.”

“If you truly were retired, you wouldn’t have kept the guns, nor coins. Deep down, you knew, you were _damned_ for all those kills. That you can’t have peace, that it’ll be robbed from you one way or another”, John had bent the fork in two, eyes swirling into Santino’s, “You are angry now, because that is truth.”

Surprisingly, John hadn’t murdered him. Instead, he put the fork down and went outside and hadn’t returned for another month.

***

Santino had picked up painting. Has the fate been different, he’d have gone to art school. But he was born into a vicious family and had to be one of heads of the hydra. Otherwise, he’d be as dead as his soft-spoken niece, who refused to be dragged into the ‘family business’.

He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, smearing the oily paint over himself. Santino liked to draw people, showing their body’s curves and face expressions. Sitting, crying, scowling, running – he grasped the anatomy pretty fast: he used to spend his whole day sketching during his adolescence days. The only escape from reality beside fencing.

He fell into a routine of checking Cassian as soon as he woke up, then, hiring a teacher – he switched between the best, so it didn’t feel like a complete copy of the previous day. He could never finish bigger paintings, hence the smaller canvases to start from.

“Yes, a stroke here”, his tutor said, leaning over to point at the blank area, “With the spatula, do not blend, there’s the beauty in it, a raw smear. You are natural in this, _signore D’Antonio._ ”

Santino knew it was a flattery, however it felt nice nevertheless, “ _Grazie, Paolo_.”

The doors banged open, with John handcuffed with Ares pointing gun to his temple. She raised the brow for permission to kill, when Santino looked over.

‘It’s alright. Leave him and go’, he signed, dismissing his tutor as well.

Once everyone left, Santino decided not to start the conversation for once. He turned around, continuing to add more colors.

“Didn’t know you painted”, he sat down on one of the armchair.

“Didn’t know you could start talking first”, he spread the blue with more force than necessary, taking off layers beneath it as well. Swearing, he put down the spatula and wiped his hands in the rag.

“I was at the house”, John continued. Santino was mildly surprised he tried to justify his leave at all: usually he just went away then came back, “Her bracelet is always there. Whole place is charred, but it’s there all the time.”

Santino looked at John. There was the twinkling white trinket in his hands. Light bounced off the jewels, giving it a snowy sparkle.

“I felt anger. Iosif, henchmen, _you_. But now, it’s gettin’ weaker”, Santino carefully made his way to John. He tried to take the bracelet from his hands, John’s hands tightened first, but let go a moment later.

A gentle floral pattern adorned with zirconia surrounding it.

“Now you do not know what you feel anymore”, Santino helped, sitting one the armrest beside John, “You felt ‘normal’ with her, yet you saved the coins and guns. Was it love or you sought peace – settling down with sole purpose of it?”

“Do not question my feelings for her”, John clenched his hand on the free armrest, “I will always remember her.”

Santino looked up, frustrated, before he leaned down to plant a kiss on John’s lips. It was the first time, when he didn’t flinch or pushed away, so Santino pushed his luck and put his hand on other man’s cheek, deepening the kiss.

John’s hand tightened around his waist, pulling him down on his lap. The bracelet was still in Santino’s hand.

“Maybe it’s time to accept that she won’t come back, John”, the hitman put his head in the hook of Santino’s neck, “You both loved each other. But she’s gone.”

He could feel wet trails rolling down his neck. John’s frame shook, breaths coming in and out in bursts. Santino put his arms around his head, rubbing circles. _Maybe it’s time to find someone else,_ was left unsaid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> som feels  
> felt like there needed to be a chapter of john goin thru grieving propely 
> 
> i rewatched chapter2 and got pr weirded out when gianna leaned in, and john leaned in as well?? idk it felt rly weird, maybe they had a fling? anyway my take on Jhon's grief is, tht hes rly sad and mad about it, but maybe he was kinda bored with her? i mean its pr big leap from hitman life to house spouse. i think he secretly liked doin his job, the part where he is given a goal and he completes it. and in movies his goal is to avenge and he doesn't kill unless its necessary so kilin aint his hobby, just doin job ok il shut up


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cos shit i got inspired for new fic so i had to finish this one asap

He finished painting the sunflowers, deciding to call it a day.

John was in the bathtub, washing himself.

The dog sat by Santino’s legs, looking out the window for birds.

Putting down his brush, Santino stood up and walked into the steamed room.

“The water is getting cold”, he leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms at his chest, “Let me look at your cuts as well.”

Santino called for the first-aid kit from one of his men, who hastily brought it for him. When he walked back, John stood in front of his canvas, unclad. He truly was beautiful like this: scars visible for the whole world to see, muscles from years of work, thinly veiled under his skin. A raw power. As much as Santino wanted to appreciate the view he had his own little mission.

“Nothing special, those sunflowers are drawn poorly. Thank god it’ll disappear by tomorrow. Now sit down, I need to look over your cuts.”

When they sat down, John’s gaze still lingered on the yellow blotch.

“Helen liked sunflowers”, he sighed, looking up to the ceiling. The dog walked over, nuzzling his hand.

“I see”, what else was there to say? Santino dabbed the cotton over the stitch with more force than necessary, “Your dog never seems to bark. Maybe it’s not so bad after all.”

When he was done, John still hadn’t moved from his spot.

“John”, Santino called, putting his hand at the center of John’s chest and pushing, “Focus on me.”

Finally, earthy eyes met ocean-green ones. Santino crawled atop of him, locking in by straddling.

“From now on, whenever we are together, you think of me. And me only. _Understand?_ ” Santino slid his hand through John’s hair, “Do you hear me?”

Santino waited for John to acknowledge it while holding his chin. When a final nod came from the other man, Santino started the kiss. A simple one: just a touch of lips. Somehow, this felt more raw and enriching than anything they’ve done before.

Santino didn’t want to be in the shadow of a dead woman, he wanted John to clearly understand it. He long ago realized his own want - rejecting it, raging over it and at last – accepting it. Once he did, he saw it clearly, he needed someone to question him, keeping him in line. And John wasn’t perfect as well, Santino wasn’t an idiot not to see it. But, somehow, he wanted this broken man, wanted to mold him into one again, bring fire to his eyes from joy, not loss.

They’ve both have fair share of skeletons in the closet, however it didn’t mean Santino couldn’t try.

“What do you want, John?” Santino kissed his temple, sitting on top of his abdomen. His one hand unbuttoned his own shirt, other one patting for John’s hand.

When Santino’s shirt was open, their fingers interlaced. John reached up to touch the younger man’s collarbone, slowly gliding down to his chest, and finally, to his groin.

“What are you doing”, it wasn’t a question nor a statement. Perhaps John was confused by the gentleness of Santino’s touch - nothing like they’ve done before. Maybe it reminded him of Helen too much; if it was, Santino was set to make him think otherwise. He wanted to overwrite everything that has to do with his wife. _He_ wanted to be the one John has set his eyes to. Maybe Santino was being selfish, but he didn’t care. He wanted someone to want him first time in a long time, after all those years of chained disappointments.

“Living the day”, which was true as well. Santino had stopped trying to find the cause of the loop, nor did he try to get out of it. He had accepted his fate, living the day as it is.

The answer seemed to satisfy John, when he flipped their positions. He started nibbling Santino’s neck, stopping to plant a kiss on his Adam’s apple, all the while caressing Santino’s body.

D’Antonio didn’t waste time as well, freeing his own length from his pants.

He realized he really enjoyed kissing John. His stubble grazed his face, tickling at times.

Light brushes grew heavier, each starting to pant and want more. The kisses grew hungrier, latching onto each other, head going lighter from lack of air. Tongues swirled and rubbed against each other, just like their bodies did.

Santino was out of breath, when John entered him. They didn’t rush, enjoying the moment, each other. They were one entity, conjoined on every level.

“I’m close”, his body ached and singed with joy at the same time, when John sped up, climbing the peak.

***

Santino left the sleeping form of his lover and enjoyed the sunset from the living room. Ares silently stepped beside him, eyes glinting with curiosity and mirth.

‘Had fun?’ she couldn’t help to resist the smirk, that tugged her lips so strongly.

‘If you can call it that’, Santino’s hair was still ruffled from earlier, visible bites and hickeys circled around his body. He wasn’t ashamed, no, he loved when John left marks, wearing them like accessory.

They just stood there, enjoying last bits of the sunlight. Last licks of the rays died, and everything was wrapped in a purple light.

‘Thank you for being with me all these years, Ares’, Santino pulled out one of the old bottles.

‘Don’t grow sentimental on me. Or you will lose your seat at the Table faster than your sister’, she questioningly smiled, accepting the drink from Santino.

‘Don’t be a _cavolo_ ’, he chuckled, feeling the warm burn of the booze. She jokingly punched him in the arm, grinning as well. Maybe Ares thought of him as a friend before. It was incredibly easy to get close to her, Santino must’ve been a blind rat not to see it.

‘You still not gonna attend your party?’

‘There are people who only want my money, or my death. I’d rather celebrate with people I care about.’

Ares snorted, but he could see her look getting softer, before she turned around and marched out, throwing a quick goodbye.

Santino walked back into the room, petting the dog on his way to the sparkling bracelet. He turned it over and over, but it wasn’t the most sophisticated trinket. Just something that must’ve caught her attention in the moment.

He was probably looking at it far too long, because he didn’t notice John rising from the bed. Only when a bigger hand clasped around his and the bracelet, he snapped out of his thoughts.

“All good things end one way or other with me”, John sounded pained, other hand resting on Santino’s waist, “Friends, spouse, cars, I couldn’t even keep a dog alive.”

“Me and him”, Santino nodded towards the lazing dog on the bed, “Have seen enough and won’t break easily, don’t worry about it.”

“Marcus.”

“Marcus was an idiot. At least I am better at double-crossing”, he huffed, reaching behind himself to put his hand on John’s neck, lowering the jewelry back to where it was, “He was too obvious. Also he probably wanted it. Doubt he wanted to actually retire and do bingo nights at the local elderly house.”

“You weren’t smart about your choices as well.”

“Well, you’re the only one that managed to get to me, but look at us now.”

“Interesting point”, he started to nuzzle Santino’s neck with more enthusiasm, rocking his hips against the smaller man’s back.

“ _Again?_ John, are you sure you’re fifty, not fifteen. Give me a break”, but he could feel a light stir of arousal creeping into his belly. Damn this traitorous body.

“Not anymore”, John turned his head, giving him a deep kiss.

***

Later, they stayed late, talking about everything and nothing. Places they went, people they’ve met, business, leisure. New discoveries about each other were made.

“It’s almost time”, Santino checked the time, pocketing his phone back, “We should better sleep. Been a long day.”

|02:47|

***

Morning. Already planning the day ahead, Santino stretched in his bed, looking towards the ceiling. He tried to get up, but an arm tightened around his middle, locking him down.

“What”, Santino blinked confusedly, looking to the body beside him, “Oh, John, you’re early. How’d you pass the security?”

John looked up at him, as if he hadn’t been sleeping at all. He sat up, looking around. Santino’s eyes widened in shock.

He lunged for his phone to check the date, but it was nowhere to be found the usual right side with a slight tilt, like it has been for such long time.

“ _Where’s my fucking phone. I swear to god_ ”, Santino all but yelled in Italian, scrambling to get out of the sheets to look for his phone. He finally found it in the pocket of his pants. He couldn’t believe his eyes, he passed it to John, to double-check it.

“We’re out”, he stated the obvious, making Santino roll his eyes.

“We’re out”, Santino dumbly repeated, before tightly hugging John, still in shock. John seemed to be surprised as well, arms loosely linking around him.

“Fuck, I want to read the news”, Santino ran to the bathroom, finally feeling the slight stubble on his face. Overjoyed, he hopped into the shower.

***

They sat in a small corner café, Santino in a middle of piles of newspaper around him, greedily drinking in everything. New scandals, conspiracies, gossips. Even mundane news were an enchanting experience for him.

John seemed to understand him, but his face was carefully blank. Ares was still confused from the last evening, now, suspiciously eyeing Santino, who was jumpy from the earlier triple espresso.

She eyed John. Ever since he came into the apartment, Santino seemed to become unscrewed, changing completely. What the hell had happened in that room, except the obvious, she mused, looking around the perimeter.

Santino waved his hand at her, looking to grab her attention. When she looked over, he signed, ‘We’re going to Italy for a week.’

When she raised her brow towards John, her employe- _friend_ nodded, looking at John like a love-struck girl.

_What the fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cavolo = cabbage
> 
> so yea it's finished lmao it ended abruptly but hey i might add some chapters and turn it into collection but ey i started another fic already. who likes fishes
> 
> so00, Riccardo Scamarcio is a scorpio and i looked up his horoscope for fun  
> and oh lord it all fit into Santi so well k so heres the list:  
> 1.he will never settle for less than what he knows is right for him(hello, johnm the only one who could get to him)  
> /2. This man can be anything, from a soft-hearted, wonderful and tender lover, to a sexual deviant, a pervert that will scare his partners away(yea git fked)  
> 3.It is often said that a Scorpio man can be obsessive, possessive and vindictive, but the truth is he can also be loyal, supportive, compassionate and incredible in bed(tfw u call ur bf but he keeps hangin up on u hh santino)  
> 4.He can either be unconditionally trusted and relied on, or entirely detached and painfully distant, making choices with no regard to anyone else’s feelings(is santino cat)

**Author's Note:**

> leave your thoughts below :^D  
> 247 means i love u in my country, used it cos im a sad heap of meat that loves this kind of stuf


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